Don’t. Ever. Judge. Me.

Do you remember when you were eleven and had your first crush?


Every time you saw the Person Who Had The Ability To Break Your Heart you would get a funny feeling in your belly, like thousands of the teeniest butterflies fluttering around.  You would blush whenever Your Crush glanced at you [probably less than you thought].  You would gaze at Your Crush if Your Crush was in the vicinity, wanting to reach out and stroke their neck / arms / thigh.


You never actually spoke to Your Crush.  You never actually touched Your Crush.  But you knew where Your Crush would be at particular times on particular days, and you lived for those moments when you might hear the voice of Your Crush, or even just catch a glimpse through coy eyes.


And you knew the music that Your Crush likes.


Damn Fecking Holidays.


Two weeks is a long time, even when you’re thirty-one .


[in reality, even as an eleven year old, you totally forget about your crush until something reminds you of him / her / it, like oh, getting on the bus]


[and also in reality, a crush is just that – a crush.  i love the blokey muchly, i really do.  he’s my best friend, my lover, my protector, my chuckle-partner and my dream-creator – but by ‘eck, twenty year old boys with sexy tattoo’s really shouldn’t be allowed on buses and the boy with tattoo’s has been bugging me since september, damn him]